


Dead Drop

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Cannibalism, Dark Comedy, Dark Sarcasms, Gen, Puns & Word Play, and they don't even make it to the classroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 12:01:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12530868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sebastian saves his life, again.Like in a little napkin, for later.Adoggiebag if you will.





	Dead Drop

**Author's Note:**

> “You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!” -Darles Chickens.
> 
> Oops.
> 
> I mean Charles Dickens.

Even with the price of salt on the rise, keeping up the Phantomhive Manor took appreciable skill. A small, meaningless bit of skill to him, but afterwards he was still considerably tired of endless doing.

Of _undoing_ the other’s hapless mistakes.

He stood at the foot of the stair, hand just brushing his waistcoat pocket. Under layers of wool and linen, he could feel the relentless tick of his pocket watch. Just this year alone, it had faced bullets, careless hooves, and innumerable spills and falls. It gleamed as he lifted it out by it’s chain, it’s silver casing whole and smooth. Half past eleven.

Far past time to collect his lord for his lessons.

He traversed the stairs at a snail’s crawl, having unwisely committed to the human pace. As he walked, he reviewed his master’s schedule. His time on the violin was first and most needed. After was arithmetic, towards which Ciel was usually favorable. He paused to turn on his heel at the landing.

Almost unbearable. Each step a slow eternity.

After practicing his numbers, Ciel would be granted a small rest. For tea he had an Earl Grey. Black Forest cake. Fresh raspberries.

Then, barring an unscheduled nap, they’d begin languages, the only lesson Sebastian was to deliver personally. Pronunciation. Conjugation.

Subjugation, if necessary.

“Sebastian.”

He looked up from his thoughts, his eyes level with the blue bows adorning his master’s feet. They needed straightening, and his gloved hands twitched at his sides. Looked up bony, childish knees. Up the length of his cane. Met the imperious twist of his mouth with a nod.

“Woolgathering?” Ciel asked, and Sebastian crafted him a smile. Pressed it seamlessly into place and watched his bocchan’s face twist in annoyance.

“Hardly.” He lied, sketching a quick bow, a bend of the waist, awkward on the carpeted steps. Not that he looked it. Salt was expensive for a reason, leaving meat otherwise quite unloved. “I was coming to collect a tardy pupil.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know.” Ciel said disinterestedly. “Should I see the unlucky fellow. What’s for dinner?”

“You have violin lessons.” Sebastian answered, smiling still, though it pressed. “Supper will be served some time after.”

Ciel frowned, taking a single step down.

“I don’t enjoy surprises, Sebastian.” He said, his high voice so serious. “And I don’t believe I’ll attend lessons today.”

“Maybe tonight’s menu will improve your mood. It’s quite healthy.” Sebastian said, falling smoothly into step beside him. _For some reason_ , that didn’t seem to please him either. Sebastian’s smile stretched.

“Stop _that_.” Ciel said, sharpish. His cane thumped the freshly beaten carpets.

“Shall we have a deal, bocchan?” And the irony was thick on them both. Sebastian bargained through his teeth. “Agree to be attentive during your lessons, and perhaps I could... speak to the chef.”

He watched war rise in his master’s blue eyes, an order heavy in his throat. All the narcissism of Rome, but as he watched the urge rose and fell, unspoken. Their first weeks together had taught them each to chose each move in their game carefully. He would take this deal, too.

“What, pray, _is_ supper?”

“Veal. Well, liver to be exact-”

“Seared? Sauced? Raw?”

“Fried with onions.”

Ciel looked at him, and Sebastian stood there, awaiting his eventual acceptance. Instead, Ciel shrugged, ducking ahead of the skinny devil. Faster than a weak little boy with a cane should be able.

“I’ll take umbles over catgut.” He said over his shoulder, and Sebastian felt his smile gutter, kicked. “I am hungry.”

So was _he_ , but that wasn’t the _point_.  
  
“My lord-” He began, and that’s when Caesar fell. A single, foppish navy ribbon, hand-chosen, had slipped free of it’s knot, wrapping around the patent leather and scuffed heel. It would’ve twisted an ankle, excepting the gloved finger he’d hooked in his master’s collar.

Small feet swung above the stairs. They listened to his cane roll down the steps together.

“One would almost think you’re _trying_ to kill me.” Ciel said.

“I’ve never been much for music.” Sebastian apologized. 

**Author's Note:**

> It was a Matilda quote. The author's note? [Never mind](http://honeyedlion.tumblr.com/).


End file.
